


Open Up My Heart

by electricblueninja



Series: Heaven and Hell [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26355082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electricblueninja/pseuds/electricblueninja
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean/Cas, Destiel
Series: Heaven and Hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915132
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12





	1. To Feel Alive

I did it because I needed to know I was real. This bed, this room, this house...I needed to know that I hadn't just been dropped back into the pit. That this insanely Stepford rut I'm in isn't just some new torture chamber, created to make me pay for the countless crimes I committed against those innumerable souls in hell. 

They did that to me so many times that I lost track: let me believe I was back above ground. That I was safe. That I'd found sanctuary. A home, and maybe even a family. They waited long enough that I'd start thinking maybe, this time, I really was _out_ \--only to give everything I cared about the Fargo treatment, in hi-def slow motion. Every single time.

Maybe the real reason that I called out to Cas tonight was because he was never a part of the nightmares. 

Maybe some part of me was thinking that if he got me out of the pit, then he might be able to save me from myself.

And anyway, this situation right now is too weird to be demon torture. Demons aren't exactly the most creative bunch. I sincerely doubt that a demon would have chosen to torture me by making me give Cas a hand-job. That's not how they roll. Their approach to torture is plain old brutalism. Bringing Mom back, for example, then ripping her away again. Or reuniting me with Dad, and then turning him into my tormentor. Or bringing Sam back as a fully-charged Lucifer, destroyer of worlds. Or putting Lisa and Ben into a giant blender. 

But Cas? He was never a part of what the demons did to me. Even when he fell off the radar, after Sam was taken, he never...He came for me when I was in hell. He got me out. And he came for me now, when I needed to forget hell.

Only he literally, uh, _came_ for me.

So now I'm lying here, with him, in the dark. His arm is wrapped around me, his hand resting between my shoulder blades, and it feels for all the world like I'm wrapped in invisible wings.

His breath is steady, and I can feel the flutter of his pulse where my face rests against his throat. It’s weird to think that he can literally burn people up from the inside, yet he's still in a flesh-and-blood body, no different to mine. If anything, the body he's in is kind of weedy. He's got all that angel mojo and holy fire and he could crack my skull like an egg if he wanted to, but he still got all covered in goosebumps when I touched him; he still flinched when my fingers brushed over his abdomen; he still shook and shivered and moaned and vanished into whatever private paradise a human ends up in when they...you know.

I have this weird feeling of possessiveness, lying against him like this. But I mean, he's supposed to be _my_ guardian angel, so it's fine. Right?

He's so still and quiet that I'm thinking maybe he's fallen asleep, right up until I remember that he _doesn't_ sleep, because he's an angel.

I get curious, so I prop myself back up on my elbow and look down at him.

His eyes were closed, but he opens them as I move, and now he's gazing back at me with this...this...I don't even know what. This look on his face. Like...Well, like an angel, I guess.

_You've got no business looking like that while I want to do the things I want to do to you, Cas. Son of a bitch._

I'm...well...I've just made myself his...his first. So I want it _\--God_ , _I want it_ \--but I won't go any further. Not unless I get his say-so. 

"I was not aware that...that it would feel like that," he says.

The curiosity is too much--I want to know how it felt for him. If it's different for angels.

"Like what, Cas?"

He breathes in deep. His eyes close, and I might be imagining it but it feels like his arm tightens around me.

"I have never experienced anything like it. It was...very strange."

"Strange like good, right?" 

_Jesus, Dean. Grow a pair._

God only knows why I'm looking for reassurance, like some girl who’s just touched her first dick. 

"I am an angel, Dean. I have lived in Heaven and travelled the world. I have seen and felt all manner of things." He pauses to look away, and when he speaks again, his tone is much softer. "That was the most intensely beautiful sensation I have ever known, and I have lived for a very long time."

"Oh." 

I have no idea what to say to that, but I guess it's my own fault for asking.

He looks back at me. Even in the dark, his eyes glint fantastically blue.

"I have made you uncomfortable again," he says, lifting his free hand to rest his fingertips gently on my face. "I apologise. Let me try again. Yes -- strange like good."

His touch lingers, and there is some sort of longing in his expression. I think--I _think--_ he might want to kiss me. I'm not sure. So I man up and ask him directly.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

A shadow of doubt--maybe even fear--crosses his face. "I am not allowed to ask for things from you, Dean."

"I asked for something from you."

"That is different. You are in my charge. It is my job to care for you."

"Huh. I thought you chose to."

The fact that I leave off the 'care for me' bit makes it louder than it would have been if I'd just said it.

"I--"

He pauses. Hesitates. Nods slightly.

"Yes. When the choice came, between heaven and you, I chose you."

"And…do you regret it?"

"No. I would do the same again."

"And tonight...if I ask you to stay; if you...you know...if you let me...Would you regret that?"

He's quiet as he thinks it over.

"No, Dean. I don't think I would."

"Then kiss me, Cas. Just kiss me.” I sound pathetic, and I hate myself for it, but there it is. I said what I said. “You don't have to ask, okay?"

"Asking is important, Dean. I require your consent."

"Then _I consent_ , dammit."

The corner of his mouth tilts upwards, and suddenly I’m the one on my back; he’s looking down at me, that fierce and weirdly cold light in his eyes. Despite the warmth and the…the human-ness of his body, he could snap my neck like a toothpick if he wanted, and God help me, but something about that gets me going. And I mean _really_ gets me going. And suddenly he’s not so innocent anymore. He learns way, way too quickly, or maybe just reads me way too easy, because his mouth is hot and inviting against mine, one hand pushing me down against the pillows, while the other slides beneath the waistband of my shorts.


	2. To Fill The Void

It is not angelic to give in to temptation. It is not angelic of me to tempt him in this way, either. But it _is_ what he asked for.

As I push him down, he looks both startled and…invigorated. Perhaps that is not the right word, but if there _is_ a word for the look in his eyes, it does not exist in Enochian, and I do not know it in any other language.

He swallows loudly, staring up at me with that nameless expression. His lips have parted in…surprise? Wonderment?

Whatever he is feeling, I want to taste it, and so I lean down to press my lips to his, asking him with everything but words to tell me more.

From what he has done to me just now, I believe I have learned something of the ways in which one human can touch another to create pleasure. But it is important to test a theory before concluding it is true, so I slip my free hand between us, beneath his underwear, and marvel at the way he is so hard, in spite of his skin being so soft.

As I touch him, he groans into my mouth, and I am satisfied that I have learned well.

I feel his body coiling underneath me. From the way that the tension builds in him, and the roughness and urgency creeping into the way he kisses me back, I sense that he has overcome his doubts. He must have wanted my permission to proceed; perhaps he needed reassurance. But his confidence is returning now, along with a new wave of enthusiasm. I let myself be guided by his hands as he pushes me gently aside to rid himself of the last scrap of fabric separating our skin. After that, less gently than before, he pushes me back among the pillows, leaning over to scrabble clumsily but purposefully through a side-table drawer.

“I don’t mean to be indelicate," I say to his nipple, "but are you looking for lubrication?”

He doesn't bother to pause, or even to verbalise his answer: just grunts confirmation and emerges with a small, colourful bottle in hand. He sets this down to grip my calves, manoeuvring his way under and between my legs so that my hamstrings rest against his thighs. I feel my stomach start to fizz again. It is a peculiar sensation, and nonsensical, as I am not yet sufficiently recuperated to revisit my earlier state of physical arousal. Dean, on the other hand, has attained a supreme state of excitement; I can feel him pressing against and, very gently and unintentionally, _into_ my body.

He takes up the bottle, then pauses.

“Hey, uh, Cas…should I use a condom, or…?”

I tilt my head. “That will not be necessary. There is no risk of impregnation.”

He makes a face at that, a wrinkle of the nose and brow which often appears when he considers whatever I have said to be ridiculous but also amusing. I have come to learn that this particular grimace means that he is embarrassed _for_ me, rather than _by_ me. (He has a distinct expression for the latter, too.)

“You mean you can’t get pregnant, Cas?” he asks.

“I…”

I have already begun to answer before I realise that there is a hint of laughter in his tone; a hint that has now spread to a full-blown grin.

I amend my statement. “…Ah. A rhetorical question. I understand.”

Dean twists the cap off the bottle in his hand, and there is the indelicate sound of a semi-liquid being pushed through a compressed space. I watch, fascinated, as he slathers this viscous unction over his bare skin. Despite the scars and callouses, and his ragged, chewed-up fingernails, he has deft and graceful hands. Everything about him, really, bears witness to the fact that God created Man, and that there is not a single thing among his countless creations more beautiful.

I can see from the gentle expansion and contraction of his rib-cage that his breath is quickening, and I know already that his heart rate is elevated. I can hear Dean’s heartbeat on a vibrational level. Usually, it is the drum that calls me to the battlefield. It tells me when he is in danger.

Tonight, though, I suspect that I am the one in danger. Not physically, but I can feel that strange, heavy, thick sensation building inside me again; warm and bright, like hot coals; a physical and emotional arousal that is wildly inappropriate. I do not believe that it is what God intended by the words ‘profound bond’.

Dean is studying my face now, one hand gripping himself, and the other resting on my chest. He is looking shy again. He does not want to ask the question.

I answer it for him anyway.

“Yes, Dean. The answer is still ‘yes’.”

He nods, inhaling unsteadily as he leans in. Chest to chest. Heart to heart.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says into my ear. “It hurts, you tell me, okay?”

“Of course.”

I feel Dean’s fingers, slippery with surplus lubricant, pressing against me as he positions himself between my ass cheeks. I am surprised by the way that this vessel so readily opens up to him. It is not…easy, exactly. Certainly not comfortable. The intrusion is expected, but my vessel does not welcome it: I still flinch and stiffen, and a small sound of discomfort passes through my lips.

I cling to Dean, my fingers digging roughly into his arms, and one of his hands slides up into my hair; stroking; soothing.

"Sorry, Cas," he murmurs. He does not move hastily, nor pull back: he just takes his weight back onto his knees, giving me time to settle. I can feel the walls of muscle within me undulating softly. And I can feel Dean, inside of me, but only shallowly. At that moment, I experience two sins simultaneously: lust and greed. I want more of this. My vessel’s reaction is slowly transforming from reluctance to pleasure: Dean’s hand in my hair is sending waves of arousal across my skin, and the way he feels inside me is...well. It’s definitely something. 

"No. No, it...It feels good, Dean. Very good."

Dean draws back enough to look into my eyes, perhaps seeking confirmation that I am telling the truth. He has said, on several occasions, that I am not very good at lying.

"Really?"

"Yes. Really."

It does feel good. Unexpectedly so. It is unfamiliar, but my vessel’s resistance is subsiding. Dean is not aggressive. He just leans into me, still holding most of his own weight. His efforts to recognise and respond to my physical reactions are clear and deliberate. When the muscles of my vessel tighten, he slows down and backs off; when I relax, he eases in deeper. Careful. Almost tender. 

Perhaps unfairly, I had not expected this of him. I had expected him to be selfish. I had expected, or maybe even _wanted_ , to be the victim of his violence and his anger. It is possible that I had even wanted him to hurt me, in order to blame him; that I'd wanted _him_ to be the one to sin, so I could take the moral high ground.

Instead, he is thinking of me with every movement he makes. There are so many ways that I have been wrong about him, but this, more than the others, teaches me something about myself. 

My thoughts are interrupted as Dean sinks deeper into my body. The hard tip of his cock brushes against something that, like flint striking steel, sends an electrical storm of sparks through my nerves.

Later, I might take the time to reflect on the irony that I am, yet again, the one who grips him tight--but this time, it's just to improve my own position. 


	3. Find The Beat

It's different with Cas.

I was hoping that it’d just be the same as it would have been with anyone else, but it's not. 

For starters, he's an angel. But that's not it, not all of it, because Anna was an angel too, and with her it was exactly the same as it would've been with any other girl. Any human girl. 

I mean, he’s a _dude_ , so there's that, uh, addition.

But really, it's different because...he's _Cas_. I _know_ him. I know the lines on his dumb face. I know the shadows under his eyes. I know the shape of his mouth. I know the angles of his scruffy jaw, and his stupid-ass cheekbones. I know his hair always looks like he's come through a wind tunnel. I know he's damn near killed me before, and that if he ever really wants me gone, I'm as good as dead already. 

But I didn't _know_ him know him. In the biblical sense. And now that _that_ kind of knowing is happening, I'm learning a whole lot of things I didn't know.

Didn’t want to know, either.

And won’t be able to un-know.

Shit.

I didn't know he'd be so warm.

I didn't know his voice would…that he’d make _that noise_ when he lets me push myself inside him. It's still rough and husky, but it's catching on something deeper in his throat, and it makes my scalp tingle.

Castiel's voice is designed to speak revelations. Hearing that note of wonder in _his_ voice…I’m getting this weird feeling in my stomach, and it’s not totally related to the fact that I’m all warm and cosy and, uh, approaching satisfaction.

This is an angel. A soldier. This is a being who was never designed to feel...well...anything. But here he is. Here we are. And he's definitely _feeling_. And I _made_ him feel.

And I didn't know he'd hold onto me so tightly. That he'd whimper as his body pulls me in deeper; that his fingers would dig into my back so hard they're practically touching my lungs; that he'd bury his face in the crook of my neck, his lips then his teeth then his tongue on my throat--

I didn't know that I'd lose all sense of where I end and he begins.

I didn't know that I'd feel this...this.... _desire,_ swirlinglike a whirlpool in my guts, pulling me into him. It's like a riptide. Like a gravitational pull. Like he's the centre of the world, pulling me in; grounding me; holding me together. Like we're communicating, but it's all happening in our atoms or cells or negative space or whatever.

I didn’t know how bad he’d want it. His knees are up and his ankles are hooked together, pulling me forward. My throat is painfully dry, because I'm feeling a whole other kind of thirsty, but I don't want to risk hurting him, so I wait as long as I can stand it, letting his body tell me when to push and when to hold; inching deeper into the tight, warm depths of him. There's part of me that wants to be disgusted, but none of the rest of me is listening. About halfway into him, I touch on something, and he--he _quakes_. The way his body shakes gives me a taste of what he's getting, and I'll be damned if being right up inside Castiel, angel of the lord, isn't the best thing I've ever felt.

Well, that's not quite right. More like I'll be damned because it is _._

I don't know if anything else is going to be enough anymore. Ever.

I've had one hand buried in his hair, but I lower both hands to his thighs, and I'm talking before my brain has time to intervene, muttering something about how "Baby, I'm gonna make you feel _human_ ", and judging by the way his back arches and his muscles contract, he likes that. A whole lot. 

It seems like it's a Good Thing, so I keep doing exactly what I'm doing, just picking up the pace a little. Moving no more than an inch. In and out. Just a little. Just enough. And then just a little more.

"Dean," he says against my neck, and then " _Dean"_ , his teeth gently gripping the skin under my jaw as his fingers curl roughly into my back muscles, the bite of his fingernails sending an electric current right through me.

Yeah, this could be bad. This could be really bad. I’ve messed up. I shouldn’t have asked him. I shouldn’t have asked _him_. I’ve messed up, and it’s all on me.

He pulls his head back in the same split second as I’m thinking that. Pulls his head back and looks me dead in the eye. They’re so blue, his eyes. Even in the middle of the night.

He shifts under me a little. Just enough to get his hands back and rest them on my cheeks. His palms are cool and smooth, which is nice, because I feel like I’m about to start shooting flames out of my skin.

“Dean,” he says, his voice soft and ragged, “Let go. I am here for you. Let me be what you need.”

I’m not expecting the note of pleading. He’s feeling things, alright. There are more emotions in his eyes than a normal person can fit in their whole damn soul.

He pulls my face down to his, and I kiss him as deep as I can. Just as deep as I bury myself inside him. Drop my mouth to his neck, because if I liked the feeling of his scruffy cheeks scratching my skin as he kissed my throat, there’s a good chance he’ll like it too. And it frees up his mouth for those sounds. His hands make their way down to my lower back, coaxing, beckoning me to thrust into him. And I do. I do. I’m trying to be careful, but he’s holding me so tight I’m edging already. I can hear myself grunting with the effort as I drive my hips down into him, and he rocks his body against me, willing and pliant--every thrust accompanied by his voice, cracking as he moans into my ear--

I’m done.

I’m done. It’s happened. My whole body is convulsing and I can barely breathe. Jesus. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, my face, my…everything.

My arms are shaking, and I lower myself unsteadily against him--not pulling out; just taking the weight off my arms and resting my head on his chest.

I can hear his heart beat, too. In perfect time with mine. His heavy breathing. A little sigh of what I hope is satisfaction.

“You’re heaven,” I mumble into his skin.

He laughs, a muffled guffaw, and I can hear the sound reverberate through his torso. "No, Dean. I'm _from_ Heaven. But I'm not there anymore. I'm here. With you." 

Good thing our cells or atoms or negative space or whatever can talk, because it's gonna be a good five minutes before I can say anything. But I mean, on the bright side, I'm face-down on his chest, so I don't need to bother with any of the "something in my eye" crap. And it's Cas, so...he just lets me stay there, one of his hands on the back of my head and the other resting on my shoulder, drawing a lazy line between my shoulder blades.


End file.
